


once you pop, you can't stop

by biggrstaffbunch



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Help, M/M, idk why this happened, it just did
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-18
Updated: 2014-04-18
Packaged: 2018-01-19 21:44:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1485154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/biggrstaffbunch/pseuds/biggrstaffbunch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve and Bucky discover boybands. Sam sees some startling parallels.</p>
            </blockquote>





	once you pop, you can't stop

Sam comes home from work one day greeted by the sound of cheerful pop music floating through his small apartment.

"Oh, so we’re introducing Bucky to music videos, now?" he asks, coming into the living room. Steve and Bucky sit next to each other on Sam’s couch, staring at the television with identical looks of polite horror on their faces.

"Steve?" Sam asks. "Man, are we introducing  _you_ to music videos, too?” 

He catches sight of the screen. “Oh, shit—is that One Direction’s newest video? I love--” he asks excitedly. Steve’s eyebrow arches. “Uh. My niece loves them,” Sam amends hastily. “Heh.”

Steve smirks like he knows better.  Bucky simply tilts his head at the screen.

"They’re all very…energetic," Bucky says. His voice is dubious. "And their hair is—tall."

Steve agrees. “Really tall,” he echoes. “I like the blonde one, though,” he says. “He’s Irish and he really likes food.”

Sam grins, leans over the back of the couch. “Is that a fact,” he asks Steve. He reaches out, ruffles at Bucky’s hair just to watch him duck away then lean back into Sam’s touch in (what he thinks is) a subtle manner.

"Who’s _your_ favorite, dude?" he asks Bucky. "Bet it’s Harry. With that long hair, y’know, and the skinny jeans."

Bucky narrows his eyes. “These are jeggings,” he says witheringly. “And  _mine_  shit all over those holey, raggedy things that kid calls pants.” He looks speculatively at the screen. “I like the one with the dark hair. And the eyebrows. And the jawline.”

Steve nods. “Zayn,” he says wisely. Both their gazes go slightly glassy as the screen shows a face with very high cheekbones and eyes framed with long lashes.

Now it’s Sam’s turn to arch an eyebrow. “You know their names now?” he teases, poking Steve in one ridiculously large bicep.

"I’ve got an eidetic memory," Steve says defensively, catching Sam’s finger and curling his hand around it, thumb tracing the side for a second before letting it go. "And their songs are really catchy." He frowns. "Even though their videos get progressively worse."

Bucky makes a noise of protest. “I liked the one where they sang into a banana,” he says contemplatively.

Sam furrows his brow. “Video…s…?” he asks. There is a computer attached to the television via HDMI cable. “Steve, man.  _Man._ Did you hook up my laptop to the TV so you and Bucky could Youtube One Direction songs all day?”

"It wasn’t just songs!" Steve says defensively. "…they have interviews, too."

"And we haven’t watched it all day," Bucky corrects, eyes still on the TV. "Just seven or eight hours."

Sam gapes. Actually gapes. Bucky reaches up without looking and jams his fingers in Sam’s mouth, probably in a misguided attempt to close it. Probably.

Steve looks slightly shifty as he elaborates: “Well. You can’t just watch  _one_.”

Sam bats away Bucky’s hand and considers. It’s true that everyone has their own way of coping with trauma. He remembers a serviceman who once marathoned every single episode of My Little Pony instead of going to work. If teenagers with skinny legs and goofy hair are the key to happiness, who’s Sam to say otherwise?

And more importantly, what kind of friend would he be if he didn’t support Steve and Bucky in their recovery?

"Okay, pals. Move over. Falcon’s makin’ a landing!" 

Sam leaps over the back of the couch, divebombing between Steve and Bucky, nudging his butt into the scant space separating the two. It’s like a burrito of hot supersoldier nonagenarians. Sam grins widely even as Steve shoves back into him and Bucky grumbles. They both make room, though, parting as a pair of curtains for sunlight. Onscreen, a young man in denim shorts tackles another young man in a tanktop. They wrestle.

Steve and Bucky look mesmerized.

"Let’s watch the one where Zayn dresses up as a hot secretary," Sam suggests.

Bucky snorts, glancing from the TV to cast a sardonic look Sam’s way. “Your  _niece_ loves ‘em, huh?” he asks. 

Sam shrugs. “You got me,” he says, laughing. “What can I say? I’m a sucker for friendship and cute guys who touch each other a lot and sing fun songs.”

Steve smiles wryly. “In that order?” he asks, slinging his arm around Sam’s shoulder. Bucky’s knee presses into Sam’s before he leans his head against the brush of Steve’s fingers, closes his eyes as Steve’s fingers comb through the hair at his temples. Sam watches the fan of Bucky’s lashes for a moment, then the soft look on Steve’s face. He grins, can’t really help it, and sinks into the warmth of the both of them surrounding him. 

"In that order," Sam confirms, and mouths along with the lyrics _tonight let’s get some, and live while we’re young—_

Sam’s not lying, either. He _is_ a sucker for friendship—like coffee at midnight when the dreams get too much, or pizza-eating contests against two superhuman appetites, or saving the world together, time and time again. And he _is_ also a sucker for cute boys who touch each other a lot—like knuckles grazing against the back of his neck, or the clasp of a metal hand at his waist, or the easy winding embrace of falling asleep on the couch together after a long day.

Only thing missing to make his own little boyband paradise, Sam figures, is the singing fun songs. (Because, like he tells Bucky over and over again, Evanescence does _not_ count, man—) 

So it makes sense that later, when Bucky sings “ _Shot me outta the sky…YOU’RE MY KRYPTONITE—_ " at full volume from the shower, joined shortly after by Steve with " _You keep making me weak, FROZEN AND CAN’T BREATHE—”_ Sam can’t be blamed for joining them. At length. For more than just a little watery karaoke.

They won’t sell out arenas or anything, but Sam figures they’ll do.


End file.
